Ginger
by kouw
Summary: Minerva McGonagall goes home for the summer holidays and is being asked to relive an important part of her past. (Non-canon AU MMADness includes OC.)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Rewrite/remix of one of my very old stories. Non-canon AU MMADness includes OC. Non-edited, non-beta'd. Written to distract myself from the horror that is writer's block.

* * *

The castle was empty. The last of her friends had waved goodbye and Rhiannon was sitting on her trunk in her dormitory. After this summer she will leave for University. She was looking forward to be focusing on her specialist field - Corporate Charms and Potions - and to making new friends. First though she would have seven weeks of uninterrupted peace and quiet.

Except it would probably not be very peaceful and definitely not quiet.

Rhiannon checked her watch. It was nearly time to leave. While the others filed into the Hogwarts Express, she would be Apparating home, just outside the gates, with her mother. Her father would take care of her trunk later when he too would be ready to leave. She had taken out her Charms textbook, parchment and quills and had shrunken them to fit in her purse. She was going to spend some time with her mother. Time where she could say Máthair instead of Professor.

She got up when her mother's Patronus told her it's time to leave and Rhiannon looked around the dorm one more time. Next year a different girl would occupy her bed, another Ravenclaw would use her nightstand. She sighed, straightened her back and left.

Her mother stood by the gates, waiting, looking exhausted and happy. Often Rhiannon thought her classmates forgot how tiring it is to be spending every day amongst so many young people with their raging hormones and their loud voices. Her mother taught a mandatory class, her days were filled with First Years who were flabbergasted by what they could apparently do with their wands and Seventh Years who were looking haggard and confused by the heavy workload and complexity of spells and wandwork.

Rhiannon enjoyed the subject as much as she liked the others, but didn't find much challenge in it. She preferred Charms and Potions. Charms needed memory and determination, Potions focus and precision. She liked the outcome of Potions, being able to brew something that could relieve pain for instance (or a really fantastic shampoo, but she would never share that with old Sluggy). She liked how she had had to train her mind for the best Charm work (and the duels she and her friends had fought in deserted corridors (until her mother had put a stop to it).

"Are you ready?" Máthair asked. Rhiannon nodded.

"Lets go then." Rhiannon took a deep breath and determinedly Apparated to her ancestral home in Godric's Hollow.

* * *

They were sitting in the garden with steaming cups of ginger tea. Out of her teaching robes, her mother looked less severe, with her bun out of it's restraints and her hair flowing down her back she looked much younger than the stern professor she had to be at Hogwarts. They sat comfortable together, quiet. Her mother had _accio'd_ a plate of different biscuits, including Rhiannon's favourites. She picked one up and nibbled on it. Her mind was full, she found it hard to concentrate.

She knew that while she was safe at Hogwarts, being looked after by her parents and a myriad of teachers and House Elfs, the real world was being shaken, Dark forces were at work and her father was worried, she could see it in the wrinkles on his brow. Her mother was still young, only twenty-three years Rhiannon's senior and so beautiful with her raven hair and green eyes that are capable of locking you in their grip - her father had always looked young too, but his hair was losing colour with alarming speed.

Rhiannon had inherited her father's auburn locks and bright blue eyes and looked the proverbial Scottish lass thanks to her mother's tall stature and the soft lilt of her accent. As a child she had often been alone. Hogwarts was a place filled with children, but none of them were playmates for a four-year-old who was being homeschooled by her father.

Rhiannon had asked for a sibling once for Christmas and her mother had told her even Father Christmas would not be able to grant that wish. Instead she had received a pair of Muggle rollerskates and she had been chuffed to bits, learning how to use them whilst House Elfs hovered about, catching her whenever she fell.

Now she was feeling this loneliness again. She was going to go away to University and her parents would be at Hogwarts. She would be alone, without anyone to confide in. Had her mother ever felt this way? Had her father? She suddenly realised she did not really know much about her parents at all - except from what everyone else had read in the History of Magic books.

"Máthair?" Rhiannon asked softly.

"Yes?" Her mother turned to her.

"Will you tell me about how you and Daddy found each other?"

* * *

Minerva sighed. She knew the day her daughter would ask about the lovestory between Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall would come eventually. Thankfully it was away from the castle and away from prying eyes and inquisitive ears.

"Lets go inside." Minerva offered and picked up her tea before leading the way into their living room and settled on the sofa. She waited for her daughter - her beautiful, brilliant, curious daughter (so much her father's child) - who curled up next to her, her eyes fixed on Minerva's own.

"You will not be interested in your father's many accomplishments, only that I met him when I started Hogwarts and that he was my Transfiguration professor in my first four years. As such I knew him well, having a natural… what would you call it…"

"Flair?" Rhiannon offered.

"Yes. A natural flair for Transfiguration. After Hogwarts I went off to study Transfiguration - specialising in inanimate to animate Transfiguration and to devote my time to becoming an Animagus. Albus was my tutor." Minerva pressed her lips together and took a deep breath.

"I fell in love with him. He was kind and caring and challenging and very funny. I knew it was wrong. Your father behaved admirably, I must say. He never encouraged me and kept up this professional wall between us and it never crumbled, until…"

"Until when?"

"During my final year, I had successfully become an Animagus, but war was raging around us and I refused to get Registered. I had heard of others who had been abducted and tortured and being put under Imperius curses to do unspeakable things. I joined the war effort, taking the basic training course at the Auror's office and keeping close to Albus."

Minerva took a sip of her tea, wrapping her hands around the mug, warming them as they turned cold from reliving a time that had been harrowing and traumatising. Rhiannon sat quietly and attentively, like she would in class (always at the back, trying to deflect any kind of attention - which had hurt Minerva, but she had been unable to do anything about it, she hoped her daughter knew how proud she was of her little girl).

"Long story short: while your father fought Grindelwald, I was fighting some of his henchmen. It didn't go well. I was a good dueller, had always been and I usually had my wits about me, but I was exhausted, worried about the man I loved and I was hit by a curse. One that we would not know the impact of until much later.

"When we finally came out of the battle, so many of our friends were lost, but also filled with joy that the war was finally over, Albus and I gave into temptation. I ought to be ashamed, but I am not. He felt safe and I had loved him for so long and he needed comforting and healing and I knew that we could make a go of it together. We respected each other, got along very well. Of course he was quite some years older than me, but I felt he would be able to teach me about life. I could teach him about love and about being dedicated to each other."

* * *

"Did you marry straight after the war?" Rhiannon asked, absorbed in her mother's story.

"No, I went back to University and graduated with full honours. I don't know if I deserved them or that it was due to my part in the war."

"I'm sure your accolades were all very well deserved, Ma. You are a very powerful witch." The words fell from her lips without thinking. It was common knowledge that Minerva McGonagall had a magical core that was matched by few others.

Her mother softly touched her hand. Rhiannon felt the tingling of their magic mixing.

"Then I went in search of a job and found one as a researcher. It was a very quiet job, one that was well suited to me for a while - I longed for the silence of a library after the battles and the Transfiguration rooms that were always filled with small farm animals and students. But I was lonely and I missed Albus, who went back to Hogwarts to help Headmaster Dippet restoring order amongst the staff and pupils."

Rhiannon watched her mother's face intently. She had hoped the story would be a happy and romantic one, but it turned out to be one of war and restraint.

"But he was not longer your teacher and you were long of age." Rhiannon said.

"Yes. And our courtship was uneventful. After nearly a year of dinners and dancing and late night games of chess, he asked me to marry him and I accepted."

Rhiannon bit her lip in amusement. "Obviously." She remarked and her mother chuckled.

* * *

**A/N2: **It's a start. Of sorts.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Un-beta'd, unedited, written whilst being awake for about 36 hours. I don't think I will finish this particular fic. The more I write, the more I find it's already been written (well, obviously since this is a remix/rewrite, but also there are about a million fics that use the theme I am using) and I don't much want to hurt people's feelings. So, if I were to finish this story, it would be on my tumblr (kouwsextras). There is a fair chance I will delete this fic from here and only publish it there. Apologies for the rambling!**

* * *

They were discussing having dessert when Rhiannon suddenly asked if there were photographs, perhaps even an album, of her parents. Minerva had nodded and gone inside to get it. Her daughter had never asked to see pictures before. They had a small collection in frames in their rooms at Hogwarts and it had apparently sufficed until now. Minerva took the album from the shelf in the library and levitated a bottle of wine and two glasses to where her daughter had made herself comfortable on the garden bench.

The girl had Transfigured the common wooden bench into a fluffy sofa and Minerva snigged when she sat down.

"You are so much like your father." She said and planted a soft kiss in her soft, wavy hair.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Rhiannon retorted with a wide smile.

"It is." Minerva said simply. "Here." She lowered the wine and glasses on the table before handing Rhiannon the first of the three albums she had brought with her and sat down next to her. She opened the bottle of white and poured them both a healthy glass. She had not looked into the first two albums for a long time. Rhiannon opened it and smiled at her parents looking very young waving at her. The caption read _Minerva getting Registered_.

"You look so happy." Rhiannon remarked.

"I was. Finally all my hard work was recognised." She sipped her wine. Together they went through the album, Minerva telling stories. The sun was going down, a chill hung in the air.

"How about we look at the rest tomorrow?" She asked and Rhiannon nodded, suppressing a yawn with difficulty.

"Lets go inside. Time for bed, young lady." She held her daughter close for a long moment and kissed her cheek. "Daddy is later than I had expected, but I am sure your trunk will be coming soon. You can always take one of my nightgowns if you want."

She watched her daughter move through the french windows into the house and up the stairs, going to her room that was so seldom used. Minerva poured herself another half glass of wine and took everything inside, making sure the garden bench was restored to its original state.

When Albus finally returned with their belongings, she had fallen asleep on the sofa, the photo album clutched to her chest.

* * *

"Daddy!" Rhiannon called her father when she finally came downstairs. Her parents were having breakfast; the Daily Prophet lay scattered on the table and her mother was reading Transfiguration Monthly while her father was nibbling on a piece of toast with a layer of marmalade that made Rhiannon's teeth ache just looking at it.

"There's my girl." Her father smiled rather tiredly.

"You must have been very late back." Rhiannon asked as she slid into her place and helped herself to a cup of tea.

"I was rather."

"I am glad you are home. Did you bring my trunk?"

Her father nodded and pointed towards the living room, indicating he had temporarily left it there. "I assume you will be able to take it up to your room yourself." He said before turning back to the Prophet with a frown.

"Máthair, what are your plans for today?"

"I am going to muck out the attic."

"Oh. I don't suppose you'd like any help with that." With her father in a mood and her mother away in the attic, the day was looking to be a rather boring one.

"Help is always appreciated, my darling." Her mother contradicted and Rhiannon smiled.

"Good. I'll try to be quick about my breakfast." She bent over to get a piece of toast and started to pile on bacon and eggs.

When she finally made her way upstairs she could narrowly avoid a head-on collision with something that looked suspiciously like a samovar. "Careful!" She called out and found her mother smiling at her and shaking her head.

"Took you long enough, kitten."

Rhiannon looked at her mother, her head cocked to the side. It had been a long time since her mother had called her 'kitten'. She remembered when she asked why her mother would call her that particular petname and her mother had simply explained that since she could transform into a cat and Rhiannon was her daughter, she was in a way her kitten. She was the daughter of a witch and wizard and there was nothing strange in her mother's words to her.

"Daddy wanted to talk. I think he is worried about me."

"Yes. I think he is." The sigh her mother heaved sounds melancholy. "But we have work to do, my darling and the sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done."

There was more than a hint of the professor in her mother's voice. "Alright. What do you want me to do?"

They worked together like it was something they did daily: getting rid of tatty old cardigans that must have been Rhiannon's grandmother's, shrinking down outdated magazines and broken toys she recognised from her early childhood. When the attic looked like a room again, she found her mother sitting in front of a wooden chest, her hand on the lid, but not opening it.

"What's in there?" She asked.

Her mother's hands trembled as she tried to open the lock, unable to perform it until she cast a simple _alohomora_.

The light in the attic was dim, Rhiannon couldn't make out what was in the chest, but she could see her mother's posture change from a tall, proud stature to an almost defeated slump.

"Máthair?"

* * *

It took Minerva a few moments to snap out of her daydream. "Sorry, kitten. What's the matter?" She asked, stalling.

"Are you alright?"

"I simply did not expect this to be here. I asked your father to put it somewhere I would never find it." Her voice sounded foreign to her own ears.

"What is it?" Rhiannon asked with the customary curiosity of a Ravenclaw. "Does it contain Dark Magic?"

Apparently her stories last night had left an impression. She could feel a sad smile curl her lips when she shook her head. "Not really." She sighed. "There are memories in here. Most of them painful."

"From the war?"

"Yes, also from the war."

"But other bad memories too?"

Minerva nodded slowly, wondering if she should share those memories with her daughter. Didn't Rhiannon deserve to know? She pinched the bridge of her nose and carefully closed the chest before sitting down on the lid. She took her daughter's hand in hers.

"Yesterday we went through that photo album, didn't we?" Rhiannon didn't respond. "There are no photos as such in the chest, but other memories. We'll take them downstairs.

It's time you knew."

* * *

Even in Godric's Hollow a Pensieve was special and her parents had always told Rhiannon not to share that they had one in their library. In a small cabinet, on a pedestal stood the precious artefact. Her father had often said he would take it with him to Hogwarts, for he had much more use of it there. So far however it stood in the library and Minerva sent out a Patronus to call for Albus.

They stood a little uncomfortable next to the wooden chest, Minerva pale and withdrawn, Rhiannon with fiery blushes and erratic breathing.

"Why are we waiting for Daddy?" She finally asked, breaking the uneasy silence that hung heavily in the book-filled room.

"He was the only one who can help me tell this story. He was the only one there, you see. It's always been him."

"Always?" Rhiannon asked.

"He was my teacher, my coach, as you know. I loved him. He loved me, but life is never straight forward. You'll find that out soon enough for yourself." Minerva's voice is soft and contemplative. "We worked together in the war effort. Your father knew Grindelwald from when he was a lad - I think they loved each other." She added quite pointedly.

Rhiannon frowned, taking in this new information about her father, who she had until then not seen as someone who would fall in love, to have had a life outside of Rhiannon's memory. She remembered the early mornings she would walk into her parents' bedroom to find them so very close together, skin against skin and how she had not found it very odd until she reached a certain age and she blushed in memory.

"Obviously it didn't last." Her mother said and again Rhiannon answered: "Obviously not."

"But in the end it was just between them. The final battle. Oh, you know all about it, you took History of Magic, you're a Ravenclaw." Before Minerva could go on, the door opened and Albus entered, shrugging off his traveling cloak.

"How are my girls?" He asked, kissing them both on the cheek.

"We need to use the Pensieve, apparently." Rhiannon explained, pointing at the wooden chest in the middle of the room. Albus nodded solemnly.

"It's time you knew." He repeated Minerva's earlier words.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your reviews, your PMs and your kind words. I am forever grateful for you taking the time to help me ease my worries. This chapter has a few repetative elements - but they are there for a reason, which you'll find in the coming chapters. Reviews, commentary and other are still incredibly appreciated.

* * *

Her mother's thoughts swirl in the Pensieve and Rhiannon doesn't know if she should simply dive in. It doesn't feel right. Like she is invading her mother's privacy. Thoughts, she knows, are the last things you can protect from others. She is a skilled Legilimens, her father having taught her from an early age how to keep others from entering her mind.

"Go on, then." Her mother's brogue pronounced, her voice slightly shaking. Rhiannon takes a deep breath and for a moment she is falling through time, surrounded by fog until she lands softly next to her father. Her mother appears mere moments later, pale and anxious.

They are looking out on a green field. She recognises her uncle Robert, Alastor Moody, other friends of her parents and then there is her father. He is radiating power, his wand in front of him, deflecting simple spells with focused ease. The hexes get more complex, there is anger coming off him. Her father almost falls out of sight as she stands eye in eye with a young man, freshly shaven, not much older than Rhiannon. He mouths and she sees her mother's hand and wand slashing the air. She hears the sound of curses, jinxes and hexes. The duel is intense.

To the death.

Her father and the wizard called Grindelwald fight in the distance, but she can feel her father's care in her mother's fighting, as if they are spurring the other on, protecting each other. Just as her mother screams 'Stupefy!" she is hit by a coiling white bluish light, right in the gut and she falls forward.

Rhiannon is breathing heavily as she falls out of the memory.

"What happened?" She gasps.

"War." Her mother answers, simply.

* * *

"Your mother was hit by a curse and nobody could tell us what it was." Albus says quietly and Minerva takes his hand. "There's a scar under her belly button with jagged edges, unlike anyone has ever seen." He adds and Minerva shakes his head.

"That's not important." She says, knowing full well that it is.

"So you were there? When Daddy defeated Grindelwald?" Rhiannon's voice is soft and quiet.

"Yes. But you ought to have known that." Albus says before Minerva can answer her daughter's question.

"I knew, but I didn't… _know_. It's different when you see it."

"Yes, I was there and I duelled whilst worrying about your father. I think I was distracted by the brightness of their duel - it was not like the green and red sparks and jinxes I fought with." She isn't particularly proud of having used Unforgivable curses, but it was war and she had little choice.

"But, you blacked out, you were hit. What happened then?" Rhiannon asks and Minerva opens the chest, pulling out a little vial and emptying it in the Pensieve after Albus takes care of the old memory. Together they fall through the fog again.

St. Mungo's, a closed ward. Three Healers stand around the bed, obscuring the figure who is in the bed. Their wands are out, they mutter diagnostic spells and confer quietly. She knows it is her in the bed, that it is her belly that is on display (the skin so taut around the jagged edges of the wound, the blood so dark). Minerva pulls her daughter against her side when a familiar voice starts to speak.

"Well? Can you help her?"

A Healer turns around and addresses the question head-on. "Yes. We will close the wound. She will be needing Potions to help her with her bloodcount and afterwards we'll set up an appointment with a gynecologist to make certain she is recovering alright."

"What do you mean, recovering alright?" Albus' voice is strained.

"We think the curse may have brushed her reproductive organs." The Healer is not one to beat around the bush.

"What… I mean…"

And they are back in the library. Minerva feels cold and shaky. Rhiannon is rubbing her arm. "But everything is fine though, isn't it?"

Her mother is so pale and her father looks so pained. Rhiannon doesn't understand. Her mother must be fine, since she is here and she is very sure she is her parents' daughter. She looks just like them and while they are both Gryffindors, there have been Ravenclaws in her ancestry. In fact, she knows she can boast at Rowena Ravenclaw being one of her mother's mothers.

"I am your daughter, am I not?" There is an edge of hysteria in her voice.

It is all a bit much, the idea that she may not be her parents' child, the fact that her father and Grindelwald were lovers (her mother said as much, didn't she? and how is she supposed to feel about that. even if her mother looked completely untouched by this scrap of information), the sight of her mother looking like she was bleeding to death.

"Yes, of course you are, irinn." Her mother smiles and puts her hands around her face. "I'll show you… it will be a few vials, but really - I will show you that you are in fact all ours." She kisses her temple and the anxiety reduces.

"But... What did happen? What curse was it?" She is eager to learn. "Does it still hurt?"

Her mother grimaces. Apparently the pain is still there. Her father answers: "According to the Healers and Aurors, what hit your mother was an accidentally misconstrued curse. Similar to the one that the Guinevere of legends was hit with. Of course legends have their origin in truth - but all in all your mother suffered a painful recovery and some rather worrisome and stressful months ahead."

"Why stressful?"

Her mother bites her lip and blushes faintly. Instead of answering Rhiannon directly, she pops the cork of another vial and empties it. By now Rhiannon simply plunges in, she is already getting used to it.

* * *

Had she ever been that young? Had Albus been this strong and muscular? His chest hair auburn, his belly muscular plains. He is beautiful in the early morning. The sun shining timidly, highlighting the bandage just below her navel. She stopped feeling beautiful - she remembers that much.

"And?" He asks and Minerva sees her young self - all high breast and supple skin - take a deep breath before picking up her wand from the nightstand and getting ready for a spell. Before she gets the words out, Albus' fingers are softly around her wrist, his thumb tenderly caressing the veins that rise on the inside.

"What?" Her voice is gentle, but strained.

"Even if it's a 'no', it's not because you are a failure. There is an unresolved curse festering and we are trying what we can."

She chuckles. "My love, it's definitely not for lack of trying. " and mutters the incantations.

Nothing happens.

* * *

"What spell were you casting?" Rhiannon has a firm idea, but she likes certainty. She likes things to be true and steady. She is not a fan of the large gray area between black and white.

Her mother flushes again, red spots appearing in her neck. "A pregnancy test."

"Oh." There had not been a calendar or diary in the memory, no way to see if it had been the spell that announced Rhiannon's coming into the world. "And?"

Her mother shook her head. "No. I had to have more tests done, take more potions."

"That curse was really bad, wasn't it…" Rhiannon mutters.

Her mother nods, her father looks at the ground. She can see he still feels guilty, even after almost twenty years. She knows him - or at least she thought she did, she is still trying to process the bit of information her mother so casually shared about her father being so intimately involved with Grindelwald - he finds it hard to forgive himself for mistakes and for hurt he has caused others. Her mother has put her hand on his sleeve and is looking at him warmly.

"If it wasn't for your father…" She starts, but doesn't finish her sentence, instead sighs deeply, though not sadly, no, Rhiannon even detects some contentment.

"Minerva, my dear, if it weren't for you…" Her father starts and waves in Rhiannon's direction. Rhiannon feels her cheeks flush as her mother tries to hide a smile and says something about Rhiannon being a wonderful fruition of their joint efforts.

She coughs. "But if you weren't… pregnant… I mean… You did have me in the end." It's a statement made with more bravado than she feels, even if she has asked the same question and has been answered before. She cannot bare her mother and father getting caught up in that world of their own. She always feels like an intruder when they do.

"We did have you in the end, indeed. I did tell you just now." There is a bit of the impatient Professor McGonagall about her mother now and it's oddly comforting. "We'll show you. After tea."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** More memories, happy and sad and a bit of fluff. Because we deserve it.

* * *

They are all quiet during tea. They have missed lunch, but they aren't very hungry. A war twenty years past has taken their appetites and Rhiannon has so many questions, is trying to understand what her parents have shared with her. She has seen war through her mother's eyes; she has seen her bravery first hand, seen her father duel and emitting so much power she could feel it radiate through the misty reality of the memory.

Her father's guilt and the up-close view of her mother's wound make her feel cold. She watches her father spoon sugar in his tea, the frown he wore at breakfast seemingly etched in his brow. Her mother is fingering the photo album on the sofa. It's not the same one as before. Rhiannon hold her mug in both hands, the warmth comforting her. Her father puts a piece of chocolate on her plate, next to the toasted teacake she has chosen.

"What's in the album?" She asks after finishing her tea. Her mother startles.

"Oh… just…" She scoots so Rhiannon can come sit between her parents.

She opens the album, finding the first picture is of her mother looking pale and not moving much. She is sitting on a soft, chintz chair - her father must have conjured it, Mathair always comes up with these straightbacked, hard wooden ones.

"When was this?" She asks, trying desperately not to see the look of utter despair in her mother's eyes as she looks out the picture.

"Few months after the memory we just watched."

"You don't look so good."

"I didn't feel so good."

"This was taken after your _supposedly_ last surgery…" Daddy looks over her shoulder and his finger touches the picture. "You recovered remarkably quickly." He flipped the page and the next picture was indeed a lot more cheerful.

Mathair was wearing a Muggle dress and Daddy was in a Muggle suit. The were holding hands and smiling at each other, looking gloriously happy.

"This is where we went to see your parents." Rhiannon doesn't pay attention to the conversation that is being held over her head. She just looks at her mother, who is looking happy and healthier. Her face is still a bit pale and the dark circles under her eyes are not completely vanished, but she is definitely on the mend in this Muggle photograph.

War changes everything, she thinks. But so does peace.

* * *

Her daughter is staring at her photograph and Minerva has to admit it is one of her better ones. The dress she wore was flattering and showed a good amount of leg. Albus had always liked seeing a bit more skin. She turns to her husband who is leaning against Rhiannon, turning over another leaf of the album.

Another happy picture of Minerva with a couple of kittens. A photograph without either of them in, just spring flowers and blue skies. A picture of her mother in a sombre robe, but a smile curling her lips. A Muggle picture of Minerva's parents, looking unsmilingly into the lens of the camera. They were happier together than the picture shows, though it wasn't easy for them*. She hadn't found it easy to have to dress up as a Muggle and to have Albus change his appearance, but she had been happy to have visited them: the last uneventful visit, in retrospect.

The next picture was of a very happy Albus, whose robes were changing colour are random.

"What's all this?" Rhiannon asked, with a smile.

"This was the day we finally got some good news." Minerva said and, planting a soft kiss on her daughter's crown.

"What kind of good news?"

"Come, I'll show you."

And together they make their way back to the Pensieve and Minerva pulls the memory from her mind instead of a vial: it's the memory that helps her cast her Patronus.

* * *

The air is filled with excitement and her parents are sitting across from each other at the kitchen table - the same table she had breakfast at this very morning. Her father's magic is sizzling through the room, weaving itself with her mother's. The light in the kitchen is brighter than it normally is, even on a sunny summer morning. Her father is looking extraordinarily nice, his nose a little straighter, his hair a little fuller, there are few wrinkles. Both their wands are on the table, cups of tea forgotten.

"I'm a bit scared to do it." Her mother says, her voice higher, her hands fumbling with her wand now.

"You don't have to if you don't want to." Her father sounds reassuring, his eyes twinkle.

"We could just wait it out…"

"We could." He nods with a knowing smile.

"Albus?"

"My love?"

"What if…"

"We'll deal with whatever comes out of it together."

Rhiannon watches the conversation with mounting anxiety. Her parents are standing beside her, holding hands, soft smiles on their faces.

Her mother to pulls herself together and picks up her wand and starts to murmur the same incantation as she did in the memory they watched in the morning and soft golden and purple streams of light fill the space.

Then there's the familiar tug and she is back, standing by the Pensieve.

"Was… was that… What was that?" She splutters.

"That, my darling, was us finding the beginning of you."

* * *

His daughter is looking confused. Well, after all that sadness she is allowed to be. He remembers that morning like it was yesterday. He had held his wife's hair back as she hunched over the toilet, throwing up her peace of dry toast and she had turned to him, whispering that she couldn't be.

So they had made themselves a cup of calming chamomile tea and she had done the spell and they had been enveloped in purple and golden light, sparks flying from the tip of his own wand. Minerva had burst into heaving sobs and he had run around the table, pulled his wife into his arms and they had held onto each other for long, long moments.

He had whispered in her ear, words of love and devotion to her and their unborn child. She had been scared of what would happen, that she might lose the baby, that the curse would still have an impact on her pregnancy. He had not denied her worries, simply held her and told her they would get regular check ups with Poppy and Healers at St Mungo's.

His heart had sung. At his age most men already had a family and he had longed for it, some kind of normalcy, some kind of redemption and with his beautiful bride so harmfully maimed, he had not expected it to ever happen. But he held his pregnant wife in his arms, the spell still swirling around them and he had known she would be alright.

And she was.

In the end.

His daughter sat next to him. Flesh of his flesh, bone of his bone. He adored his girl (both his girls), always finding it impossible to deny her anything. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

* Only time I'll agree with the Pottermore backstory ;)


End file.
